Sing the Seranade
by Lord 0f Storms
Summary: The Dalish mage and the elf who hates all things elfy and magey. Who would have thought that could work? Sera/Lavellan
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Spoilers for Here Lies the Abyss. Be warned, I have no real direction in mind for this. I'm writing it mostly because Sera's romance is so funny and cute, I just had to write about it. I hope to do some of their in-game romance progression. Well, loosely based on in-game stuff, I'm not checking Youtube for dialogue (the _spoilers_!). **

...

Sera was bouncing around the room, giggling to herself at some joke she hadn't actually made. Lavellan couldn't get her to sit still for five seconds to talk about it, and had instead decided to lounge on the window seat to watch.

This had been going on for several days now, but Lavellan had no time to address it. Every waking moment was consumed with some task. Her advisors were kept busy, which meant _she_ was kept busy with a constant stream of reports, requests and concerns. She hadn't done so much reading since Keeper Istmaethoriel began tutoring her.

Worse than reports, were the judgements on prisoners. She found it hard to make decisions for people that would alter the course of their entire lives. It made her teeth itch. There hadn't been any executions since she took the helm, and only one miserable Venatori was enjoying their dungeons right now. Everyone seemed to think she was too much of a bleeding heart in these matters, though Sera used more colourful language. The city elf was especially annoyed when Lavellan had stopped her from killing a corrupt noble.

"You're going to wear a hole in the floor," she pointed out as Sera wandered across the room for the fourteenth time.

"I could use it to spy on people." Sera eyed the floor and chuckled. "I think people are screwing down there behind the crates. They think no one knows, but Barkeep's more worried about them stealing the drink while they're back there."

"There goes any interest I had in sampling the food here." Lavellan raised an eyebrow as Sera bounced on the balls of her feet, apparently fascinated by the ceiling. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

"Nope! I want to drink, come on!" Sera grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her out the room.

...

A few hours later, Sera was five sheets to the wind, crouched precariously on Iron Bull's shoulders with her backside sticking out into the air, and gripping his horns tightly. She was attempting to steer him around the bar, while other patrons veered out of the way and tables were reduced to splinters. Josephine would not be impressed at having to requisition new furniture.

Iron Bull gave a great belly laugh, shaking so hard, Lavellan thought Sera might fly straight off. The elven woman just flowed with his momentum, supple as a willow even while blind drunk.

Lavellan swilled her drink around the tankard, ready in case she had to use magic. A barrier to protect them from hurting themselves would probably be wise. A slippery ice track that sends them sliding into the wall would be funnier.

Without even realising, she had been singing along to the bard's rendition of 'Sera Was Never'. Whereas the singer's voice was bawdy and loud, Lavellan sung the words with soft fondness. A small smile sat on her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dorian approaching. She hastily stopped singing and straightened up.

"Oh, Creators, no."

"Is that any way to greet your favourite Tevinter ally?" he asked, sweeping into a seat at her table.

"You're my only Tevinter ally."

"Which automatically makes me your favourite."

Lavellan made a pained face at him. "You're not here to give me more etiquette lessons, are you?"

"No, you're out of luck. Although Leliana says your dancing could still use some work. Something about a club foot and sloping shoulders."

"It's not my fault you humans are so weirdly proportioned." She finished off her drink. "So, what brings you in here?"

"Other than the local colour, you mean?" he asked, gesturing at the drunken duo with a smirk. "Some of the Circle mages have been complaining to me about being harassed when they go off spreading the good news of the Inquisition. They thought I would make a more sympathetic ear than dear Vivienne, and so they come to me."

"You _are_ a more sympathetic ear. Vivienne would probably boil them alive."

"Very true, and Solas isn't remotely approachable. Too stuffy and severe."

Lavellan made a _tsk_ing noise. "What do they expect me to do about it? The Chantry teaches its people that magic is scary and evil... therefore people think it's scary and evil. There isn't much I can do about that. Certainly I can't fix every silly human notion."

"Please don't tar all us nasty humans with the same brush. Besides, it's hardly just humans." Dorian gave a small nod in Sera's direction. "There are plenty of people who find us mages distasteful, you know."

She tapped a finger against the rip of her tankard. "That's not the same. She just... she was taught to think those things by the Chantry. It doesn't mean she can't change her mind, given time. I doubt she's ever even lived alongside mages before now. In fact, she doesn't even flinch anymore when I fire off spells right next to her." She cleared her throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dorian arched an eyebrow. "I was actually referring to our Qunari friend. That certainly rankled your mood, didn't it? I'm sure you're right. Given time, sufficient charm can win over even the hardest of hearts."

Lavellan glowered at him. He waved as Sera staggered over, having finally dismounted Bull's shoulders. "What brought that little display on?"

"Oh, we had a drinking competition. That big lump said if I could drink a whole jug of dwarven ale and still stand, he'd let me 'ride the Bull'." She snorted, which dissolved into uncontrollable giggling. Dorian exchanged an exasperated look with Lavellan.

"What're you two talking about then?" Sera asked after she'd recovered from her giggles. "Something boring?"

"We were just discussing the plight of the poor oppressed mages," he replied.

She made a disgusted noise. "So yeah, something boring. Mages..." she slurred. "Gives me the willies."

Lavellan frowned slightly, folding her arms and leaning back into her seat.

"Oh, not you," Sera said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're alright. Nice arse too."

A flush of pink spread into Lavellan's cheeks.

"Magic's creepy because demons and stuff, right? Mind control... Fade rifts all over the world like tears in old panties. But you're just you." Sera frowned, swaying slightly. "The fact you're... connected to the Fade, that's just how it is, isn't it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Going into the Fade, it's just what you do." Sera dug her thumb into the table, carving a groove with her nail. "But when Solas does it, he just falls asleep, right? Or goes into this trance like he's gone la-la. I've seen him do it. Tried to draw on his face once." She snorted quietly, before tilting her head and eyeing Lavellan. "He doesn't... go anywhere."

The blonde woman frowned, her usually sunny face crumpling. Dorian got to his feet, apparently taking it as his cue to leave. Sera didn't even notice.

"When you went into the Fade at Adamant, you were just gone. One minute I could see you stood on this big wall... next it was in pieces and you disappeared in a green flash. What did you go and do that for?"

"It was the only way," she replied softly. "And it was just an automatic reaction. If I hadn't used the Anchor, I probably would have been squashed by the rubble." Lavellan gave her an encouraging smile. "Besides, it's not like I was on my own."

"Oh yeah, some fine company: the mage nutter who let all the other mage nutters destroy a city, the tit who got all the Wardens in Ferelden killed, Madame Up-Her-Own-Arse, that big scare-baby," she jerked a thumb towards Iron Bull, "and _it_."

Lavellan sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. Was Sera jealous that she hadn't been chosen for the mission? It wasn't because she wasn't trusted or anything, Lavellan simply thought she would be more useful backing Blackwall up on the wall. She frowned at the other woman.

"I was worried about you, you daft tit." Sera gave her a petulant look, dipping her fingers into the dregs of ale and flicking the liquid at Lavellan's face.

She didn't even notice it running down and dripping off the end of her chin. "You were?"

"Well _yeah_. You're the one with the glowing hand, who can fix the sky."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Lavellan dipped her forefinger in the leftover ale and dabbed it on the end of Sera's nose, smiling at her. "Sorry to scare you like that. I'll try to use an alternative escape route in future. Maybe fly off on the back off a dragon?"

"Griffon," Sera corrected, looking content. "It's a Warden keep, so you know. Griffons." She wobbled round to Lavellan's seat and dropped down beside her. "I'm shattered. Think you can stay still for a wink?"

Lavellan opened her mouth to reply, but Sera had already fallen asleep against her shoulder. Her warm breath tickled Lavellan's bare arm, and the Dalish sighed. It would be at least a couple of hours until Sera was rested enough to be guided to a comfortable bed. Lavellan wiped he ale off the end of the other woman's nose, her hand falling to where Sera's were splayed in her lap.

A slight smile tugged at her mouth. She wasn't leaving any time soon. She signalled the bartender for another drink and settled in, tracing soft circles on Sera's palm without even noticing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm very sorry for the long wait, but I'm picking this back up again (yay!). So there's some more Sera/Lavellan loveliness ahead, with a touch of Cass (because _Cass_).**

...

The uniform was starchy, cumbersome, and surely made for a human. Lavellan looked much like a child trying to dress up in an adult's clothes. She felt like one too, trying desperately to remember the Orlesian social cues that Vivienne had taught her.

Her companions were having mixed success at the ball. Vivienne, Varric and Dorian were naturally in their element, charming the perfumed masses and enticing them with just enough information about the Inquisition, without giving anything away. The advisors were a success too, though Cullen was having perhaps a little _too_ much success at charming people. Remarkable really, considering he was just standing there, looking uncomfortable and shooting her pained looks whenever she passed by.

Iron Bull was a touch more out of place, a hulking giant in a formal suit with a delicate flute of wine. At least he was able to put his Ben-Hassrath training to good use, and hadn't killed anyone yet. Surprisingly, Solas seemed to be relaxed. She thought he would've found this flamboyant, human affair to be shallow and uncomfortable. Instead he was treating the Game like... well, a game. Plus, he'd dug up some bizarre hat from Creators-knew-where. Maybe he was looking to start a new fashion?

A noblewoman seemed to be approaching her, so Lavellan took a hard right and booked it over to Cassandra quickly, like the baby she was.

"I take it you're being hunted as well?" the Seeker asked.

Lavellan glanced around, noting with disappointment that there were still several nobles staring at her. With those stupid masks on, it was so difficult to tell what they were thinking. She was so distracted, it took a moment to register the other woman's words.

"What? Have you been... propositioned, Cassandra?"

The Seeker grimaced. "That introduction in the ballroom has done me no favours. There have been simpering nobles lining up all evening, trying to win favour. If it isn't my former status in the Chantry, it is due to my family. They are completely relentless."

Lavellan hesitated. "Wait, that man I saw earlier with a black eye...?"

"I was provoked," she replied tetchily. "And I do _not_ dance."

"I thought you'd love the romance of it all. The music, the dancing, the admirers."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "It is not romantic at all. I'm starting to see why Vivienne became as... caustic as she is. None of them speak plainly, and they wield words more sharply than swords. I would be happier if I had _my_ sword," she added.

"It will all be worth it by the morning though, won't it?" Lavellan reminded her. Or perhaps reminded herself. Cassandra probably wasn't the one with the sweaty palms. "The Orlesian throne will be secure, and we'll have additional backing for the Inquisition. Plus, if I can put Briala's words in the competitors' ears..."

Lavellan noticed a head of blond hair zipping across the opposite end of the room, clad in Inquisition regalia. For a moment, her heart quivered at the thought of Sera. Then she realised it was Cole, and frowned. She was willing to bet that the Orlesian nobles and their pointy words did not think highly of bedraggled boys. Plus, it was technically her fault that he couldn't disappear from memory anymore.

"Speaking of improvements, could you go and keep Cole company?" she asked. "Somehow I don't think he's cut out for trading barbs with Orlesians... though he could confuse the heck out of them. It might also help keep the nobles off you. Maybe you could read him the latest chapter of Swords and Shields."

Cassandra flashed her a warning look, and Lavellan didn't press the joke. Probably not a wise idea while she has on the edge.

"Well, it would be a marked improvement in intelligent company," Cassandra said, giving some nearby nobles a dark glare. The hopeful Orlesians quickly dispersed, melting back into the crowd before the Seeker tried to blacken someone else's eye. "I think I might have been more comfortable in the Fade." Cassandra sighed irritably.

The moment she left, the nobles began to draw closer. Lavellan started to wish she'd stuck with the warrior.

She returned to her circuit of the ballroom. Lavellan had to wonder if she was making a better impression on the nobles than her companions? If she let them talk to her, would they proposition her too? Somehow she doubted it would be her connections on their minds. Her status as the Inquisitor, her magic, her... elfness. It was probably all fair game to Orlesian nobles. A little shudder ran through her at the thought. Humans had some strange ideas about elves, as though they were just pretty playthings.

Josephine had said that a silver tongue would take care of Lavellan here, so long as she was careful, but she wasn't so sure. It was one thing making silly remarks in the company of her friends. It was another matter here in the pride demon's realm. There was a particularly scary looking one just there, with horns and glittering eyes.

She inclined her head at the nobleman as she passed, and he did likewise. That was a good sign, right? It made her seem like she was too important to stop and chat to them. Unless it just made her look like some wild barbarian? They had been whispering such things to each other in the gardens. Lavellan set her jaw and straightened her jacket, pressing on to find Sera.

The blonde elf turned out to be lazing on the edge of the ballroom, a tall flute of wine next to her.

"Enjoying Chateau Haine, 8:25 Blessed?" Lavellan asked, indicating the wine when Sera made a confused face. "I hear it's the finest and oldest vintage around."

Sera shrugged. "All tastes the same to me. And it isn't, anyway. Cook accidentally used the original when she was cooking up a feast last Wintersun. This plonk," she grinned, "is Val Royeaux Lower Market, 9:41 Dragon. A fine vintage!" she mimicked with a chuckle. Sera cocked an eyebrow. "See that behind you? She's been eyeing your arse since you got here."

Lavellan cast a glance over her shoulder, and caught the gaze of a noble woman in an ostentatious gown and feathered mask. The woman inclined her head and raised her glass, a sly smile on her lips. Lavellan hastily turned back round, her face heating.

"Aww," Sera laughed, poking her reddening cheek. "I could roast a sausage on those cheeks. She's Rivaini, that one. An important woman back home, apparently. Links to royalty and all that. Not bad looking either. For a noble. I knew a Rivaini pirate once, she had tits out to here!" Sera cupped her hands a good foot in front of her own chest.

"Oh... you knew her, or you _knew_ her?"

"Jealousy, from Lady Herald 'Teetness?" she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Very jealous," Lavellan replied with a laugh. "Honour demands that I seek her out, and wear her spleen as a hat." Sera grinned. "It would look nicer than the hats you've gotten me."

Sera scoffed lightly. "Ungrateful shite! No need to be jealous of her tits, anyway. You're not doing badly yourself." She reached out and gave Lavellan's breast a squeeze, right there in the middle of the party. A couple of nobles who had been watching the famed Herald, gasped and turned away in shock. It must not be in fashion for elves to grope each other in public. Creators knew it was far from the most shocking thing _she_ had seen this evening.

"What am I, a piece of meat?" Lavellan asked in mock indignation.

"Nah. Two pieces of meat." This time she gave both breasts a squeeze. Lavellan couldn't stop herself from laughing. Once she started, the worry slid off her. Trust Sera to take an unnerving pit of snakes and turn it into a big joke. She laughed until she and Sera were clutching each other to keep from falling over, stomach tight from laughing. The fine vintage on the table had been knocked over at some point, and was currently soaking into some noblewoman's expensive dress. The stain spread out across her skirts, and Sera mimed someone pissing themselves.

Lavellan smothered her mouth with a hand, trying to compose herself. Sera was already swiping another drink from a passing servant, along with some of those little cheeses that taste of despair.

"Make sure you save me a dance," Lavellan told her, before sweeping off to win over the court.

...

The evening had been draining, but successful. A party like that might have been more enjoyable if she hadn't been so thoroughly out of her element. Finding and stopping an assassin was one thing, but witty repartee with nobles was _deadly_. Plus, she'd had to dance with a duchess without falling on her face. At least the lessons had paid off, and she hadn't revealed anything about the Inquisition's plans.

There was so much riding on her shoulders – as though anyone would let her forget it. Secure alliances, defeat enemies, save the world. It never ended.

At least out here on the quiet balcony, Lavellan could drop all pretences and simply relax. She leaned against the railing and breathed deeply of the fresh air.

"'Teetness!" Sera cried happily, breaking the tranquillity and thumping into the railing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She gave the other woman a tired smile. "I'm fine."

"Tell your face that one." Sera nudged Lavellan with her elbow. "It all worked out didn't it? The nobles got an arse to warm their throne – and a nice one too – and you got your elf for all the... elf things. It's good, right?"

Lavellan tilted her head, regarding the other woman. That smile had a soft, tender quality to it that wasn't often seen on Sera's face. It wasn't a bawdy grin, just something gentle... perhaps... loving? She blushed slightly at the thought. It was true that she and Sera were sleeping together – exclusively too – but did that mean they loved each other? Dalish culture was very focused on marriage, commitment, children. She didn't picture any of those things in a future with Sera, but... did she even want them?

Why was she acting like a flustered child? There was something about Sera that just seemed to reduce her to a quivering mess of jelly. It was time to reassert her confidence.

She caught Sera's hand up in her own, tugging her away from the railing. The city elf looked confused, a little suspicious, and Lavellan shot her the most charming smile she could. "I believe I asked you to save me a dance?"

"Oh, no no." This time Sera looked embarrassed, attempting to back up even as Lavellan drew her in. "I don't do dancing. You haven't seen me dance!"

"I'd like to."

Sera groaned, allowing herself to be led to the centre of the balcony. Lavellan cradled one hand in her own, and placed her other hand on Sera's waist.

"Andraste's toasty arse, you want to do it proper like? I don't even know how."

"As I recall," Lavellan said, gently beginning the steps, "Leliana did offer to teach you as well."

"With Vivienne there watching?" Sera scoffed, her feet falling into step with Lavellan's without even noticing. The training of a rogue and a thief did her credit. "That's all I need. Her smug face laughing and going _'Sera dear, don't you know your hair will look positively ghastly with that outfit?_'" She giggle-snorted, before realising that they were moving.

Sera only just seemed to notice as they whirled around the balcony, to the sound of far-off music. It started slow and simple, feet learning to match each other's steps. Then they were flying, laughing and giddy. Even fighting didn't take the breath out of her this quickly.

Their bodies were perfectly complemented, perfectly attuned. It wasn't the stiff, awkward affair of the palace ballroom. Lavellan wasn't clutching some strange noblewoman while hundreds of eyes pinioned her to the dance floor. Sera was in her arms, laughing and free. This was how it should be, how she wanted it to always be. She didn't care about distant Dalish faces, frowning in their disapproval. Lavellan just wanted that smile, the silly snorting laugh and the pranks.

She was so happy that she didn't even care when Sera missed a step and their legs tangled, crashing them into the stone floor. She just started laughing, and kept right on until Sera caught her mouth with a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

An uneasy feeling followed as they made their way back to camp. Cole was talking Cassandra's ear off about something. Nugs, probably. The Seeker only seemed to be half listening as she mulled on the day's events. Sera was distracted and jumpy, bow constantly at hand and fingers flying to her quiver at the slightest sound. Lavellan tromped through the lush foliage, smacking plants out of the way with her staff. The clan's hunters had used a similar method to clear a path for the aravels in particularly dense forests, only they had used long knives, not staffs and concentrated fire.

"You are creating a trail that will lead straight to our camp," Cassandra said, a note of disapproval in her tone. "If the Freemen or red templars wished to follow us, they would find it quite easy."

Lavellan said nothing, but stopped her one-woman attack on the greenery. It was silly anyway. The forest wasn't responsible for her bad mood. No, it was that awful place – Chateau d'Onterre. Disquiet had fallen over them the moment they walked through the door and Cole had announced that _'It knows we're here.'_ After that, it had been one disturbing revelation after the other, their anxiety amplified by spontaneous flames and walking corpses.

"That big house felt wrong," Sera announced. She was hunched and grimacing slightly, but it wasn't from any injury. Lavellan had seen that expression once before, but it wasn't on the face of the Sera she knew. It was the one from the future. The one who had been broken when the world was ruined, tortured with red lyrium. "All uncomfortable, like when you get a stone in your shoe. No, wait. Worse than that. Like a wedge-up . No... worse. It's _Fade-y_." She shuddered. "All full of weird magic, demons and corpses and shite. Not any place someone like me is supposed to be, you hear? I don't... I'm not going somewhere like that again."

Lavellan sighed. "I hated it too."

"Right?" Sera fiddled with her archery gloves absent-mindedly. "That shite is why we have Circles, so that normal people don't get mixed up in creepy nightmare stuff. Bloody demons in someone's house. _Arse-biscuits_."

That sparked a frown. "The 'normal people' would have been just fine if they hadn't tortured that little girl."

"Tortured?" Sera scowled. "There were pieces – _little pieces_ – of people everywhere. People pieces! There were dead things walking around, and some arse-tit notes about demons. That _little girl _was off her bloody rocker! They should've sent her right to the Circle when they saw her floating the candlesticks or turning people into frogs."

"Yes," Lavellan replied tersely. "Because she needed to be trained. They could've sent her to the Circle, or hired a mage to teach her, or anything. Anything but what they did."

"If you want to strop about Lord and Lady doing whatever, fine, but it's not just them that got caught up in it. Servants, cooks, gardeners. All little people who just wanted a job. Probably thought it was really fancy going and living up in the big house with some poncy nobles. Money for life, all set. Just because of that, they deserve to get offed by some loony mage kid?"

"Of course not!" Lavellan was vaguely aware that both of them had stopped walking. Now they were just squaring off in the middle of the forest, with a small captive audience. She couldn't think about that though. All that was thrumming through her mind right now was Sera and her obstinacy. "But it would never have happened without her parents doing awful things to try and purge the magic. Purge the magic! I've never heard anything so stupid."

That word caused Sera's scowl to deepen. "People get scared about magic! There's lots to bloody _be_ scared about. You ever seen normal people cause something like that? Make demons spring up and murder everyone?"

"The only reason people are so scared is because the Chantry preaches hatred and fear," Lavellan argued. "If they knew _anything_ about it, if they actually listened to mages for a change, then people wouldn't react like this. Perhaps if it wasn't such a deep shame to be a mage, they wouldn't be trying to drown children to get the magic out!"

Sera threw her hands up in the air, a look of disgust twisting her features. "This is why I don't get mages. It's all 'whine whine, _we're_ suffering, _we're_ oppressed'. But at the end of the day, they're bloody dangerous. You know who's really on the bottom rung? It's not the people who can light your arse on fire. It's everyone else that gets caught in the middle, when the mages and templars and demons and whatever other crazy shit there is starts blowing it all up."

They stared each other down, tension and frustration taut between them. Part of Lavellan wanted to slap Sera, and the other part wanted to hold her. It was utterly frustrating. After a second, the city elf just made an angry snort and stormed off, resuming the attack on the plant life.

Lavellan just stared after her, feeling unhappy. Why couldn't Sera see that it people's fear of mages that created the very dangers they worried about? That child could've been happy, she could've been a great mage. In the Circle, if need be, but just so long as she was taught how to control her power.

Where would Lavellan be without Istmaethoriel? Would she have been beset by angry villagers, like Minaeve, only to be rescued by templars? Would Sera be so callous if it had been her in that position? Lavellan didn't like to consider that she could lose control of her magic and succumb to a demon. Knowing that Sera might be thinking about it every time they looked at each other... when they fought alongside each other... when they made love... It made her feel dirty. Unwanted and tainted.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, not noticing as the other two approached.

"Sera will calm down eventually," Cassandra said. She looked pensive for a moment, before continuing. "Perhaps you are right, and the Chantry has spent too much time preaching fear of mages, instead of assisting people as it should. However, that is of little consequence now. Sera has been taught what she has been taught, and complaining about the Chantry's teachings will not undo that."

"Then what will?" Lavellan asked softly. "What would convince her that we're not monsters?" _That I'm not a monster_, she wanted to say.

"Stories," Cole said, his voice developing that distant quality that she associated with his mind-reading. "Children, telling tales of torment caused by magic. Simple things become frightening so easily. A drowning man. A woman on fire. Murder...mundane or magic?"

Cassandra eyed him, before fixing an earnest look on the elf. "I have not had many opportunities to mingle with common folk in my time, but I promise you this: they don't stop being gossip mongers once they reach adulthood."

"Humans scare each other with stories of mages?" In her clan, it had been Fen Harel who was the scary villain, and the Forgotten Ones. People cursed the Dread Wolf for their misfortune and thanked the gods for their blessings. The stories had been exciting, unnerving, but no one was ever actually harmed as a result.

"The unknown, it scares them," Cole agreed. "Can't be understood. Doesn't want it to be understood. That would make it real."

_The Nothing_. When Lavellan had been forced into the Fade, the Nightmare had taunted her with a vision of her friends' tombstones. Upon each one was named a fear, and that was Sera's. It had been so strange at the time, but was that what it meant – a fear of the unknown? Was it so really so simple, that Sera was afraid of magic because she didn't understand it?

...

How did one make magic less frightening to a person who was raised on horror stories? She had been avoiding Sera since they had returned to Skyhold. Even so, the city elf had ways of making her presence – and her displeasure – known.

Lavellan set down the missive from King Alistair, noting that above the royal stamp, some mysterious person had drawn a butt. No doubt that was in retaliation for yesterday, when she put rashvine in Sera's shoes. The city elf had been furiously scratching at her feet all day. It seemed only a fair repayment for the wickless candles Lavellan had been contending with the night before. How Sera had even managed to get the wick out of her candles, she didn't know.

_I could prank her with magic_, she mused. No, terrible idea. Sera believed that magic gave people an unfair advantage, so bringing it into a petty game would just make her more frustrated. If Lavellan wanted her to understand, then using magic against her would not help.

What was needed, was for them to sit down and talk. No games, just words. With that decided, the Dalish elf set off to find her.

Sera was in her little tavern den, as usual. Lavellan lingered just outside, watching her for a moment as the city elf scribbled on a piece of parchment. Whatever it was, she seemed to be completely engaged. But not oblivious, "You going to hang around out there forever? Creepy having my own stalker, innit. Bad enough with bardface down there."

"I didn't want to disturb you in the middle of drawing more butts," Lavellan said, with a slight smirk. She wasn't sure whether to take a seat, so she just leaned against the doorframe. Not intruding, but not retreating either.

"Don't need to practice that," Sera said smugly. "I've got it down to an art."

"I wanted to talk... about what happened before."

Sera's face fell slightly. She looked wary, as though the conversation were a trap that could be sprung at any moment.

There were so many things Lavellan wanted to ask, points she wanted to make. However, one question lay at the root of the problem, and Lavellan's fears of where she stood in the matter. "If you're so afraid of magic, does that mean you're afraid of me too?"

Sera blinked in confusion. "No. Is that even a question? Not even. I mean, I _was_, when we first met. Because elfy mages, right? You hear stories about that, the most elfy of all elves, mages. Because that's 'proper'. How we were _supposed_ to be. Supposed by who? Some elves making up stories, probably. But you're not scary now."

"What changed?"

Sera stood up on the couch, restlessly walking its length before turning and repeating her footsteps. "You know how to have fun and help people out. Stuff like... _that place_, it makes me think about magic, and that's nope... not in my head, ta. It's over there." Sera gestured vaguely towards the window. "It makes things complicated and scary. I don't want it to be like that with you. You're not scary. You're just... you."

"But I am a mage, it's just part of who I am."

The city elf stopped walking. "No, it's simple, see. Scary thing. Magic." She gestured emphatically to her left. "Not scary thing. You." Now she gestured to her right.

Lavellan almost wanted to laugh, though she wasn't sure if it was out of amusement or disbelief. "Is it really that simple for you?"

"No. Not when I'm stuck in a place like that Shat-On-Hair or whatever it's called. I'm not stupid. I know your magic helped us out in there. I know bad things happened to that kid, and yeah, that's bad for her. But magic's bad for _everyone_. Look at what it did to the frigging sky!"

"That's why people need to be taught about it, so it can be used responsibly and not feared."

Sera narrowed her eyes. "Like... Circles, right?"

"If need be." Honestly, she wasn't sure where else humans could learn magic, except in some big organisation. They were far too disparate to use the same system as the Dalish. She still thought they could lose the templars though.

Sera chewed her lip for a moment, before nodding. "Alright, I'll take it. Middle ground. No talking, no thinking, no magey elfy anythings."

Just like that, the tension had apparently vanished for Sera. One moment she was taut and frustrated, the next she was blithe and relaxed. Lavellan sighed, settling onto the couch and feeling vaguely confused about the whole thing. "I don't like arguing with you, you know."

"You like making up," Sera noted, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she dropped to her haunches besides Lavellan.

"You say that like it's the whole point of the argument."

Sera snorted. "Trust me, throwing pointy words at each other isn't _that_ fun. Done thinking about it."

Lavellan smiled. "We still get to make up though, right?"


	4. Chapter 4

The tavern was unusually quiet for this time at night. Lavellan sat in a corner by the fireplace, nursing a mug of beer. It could be her presence that had scared everyone out, not wanting to act like a bunch of fools in front of the 'Herald of Andraste'. She chuckled softly at the thought. Andrastians could be so strange.

She took a deep gulp of beer, her eyes catching Cole's. The young man was tucked away on the highest floor, where no one else bothered to go. Lavellan gave him a smile and a friendly wave, but he just continued to stare at her like a forlorn puppy. She dropped her gaze. Honestly, she wouldn't be any use as a sympathetic ear tonight.

Sera's corner of the tavern called out to her, a cosy little enclosed balcony where they'd spent plenty of days and nights together. The eccentric elven woman had a way of making her feel relaxed and free of the burden of being the Inquisitor. Everyone else looked to her for guidance, difficult choices and making a stand. Sera gave her cookies and bizarre hats with faces drawn on them. It was wonderful.

If she went up there though, she might have to explain what was laying heavy on her mind, why she felt so shivery despite the heat of the fire. Sera hated talking about 'elf things'. Lavellan didn't begrudge her that, not anymore, but it meant she couldn't go to her lover to soothe away her worries.

Lavellan rubbed her eyes in frustration. It was close to morning now, and she should be sleeping. She had to deliver justice to their latest captive, and wasn't looking forward to it. When the sun rose, it would be time to put on her composed face, laden her voice with charm, and be the Herald for her followers. The night, however, was hers.

The tankard of beer was drained, and she abandoned the tavern, crossing the courtyard languorously. Maybe a brisk walk around the battlements would clear her mind. She needed to be out in the bracing air, not penned in by walls and roofs.

"Lethallan," a soft voice called.

She started, looking round for the owner. When she spotted him, a smile crept onto her face. "Solas, shouldn't you be asleep at this time?"

The elven apostate emerged from the shadows of the herb garden. It was a mystery how he always seemed so calm and ponderous, even in the most chaotic of times. "I could say the same for you." He regarded her steadily. "You don't look well."

"I..."

"It might soothe your mind to talk, lethallan."

Her smile deepened, that single word bringing a feeling of security and nostalgia to her. Solas reminded her so much of Istmaethorial, sometimes. It wasn't just the wisdom of age, it was something in his bearing. He had a life rich with experience, and wanted to share what it had taught him.

Lavellan leaned against the stone balustrade of the stairs behind her. She studied the floor, feeling her breath hitch as she remembered what had driven her into the tavern. "It's my clan. They're in danger. I sent them to help protect the elves of Wycome from vengeful humans."

Solas' expression darkened.

"Now humans from other cities are coming to bear against them, and my clan doesn't stand a chance. Keeper Istmaethoriel won't leave. She knows that if she does, the city elves will be massacred."

"You sound frustrated," he noted, always measuring her. "Would you do differently?"

"Well...no." She made an exasperated noise, but a warm feeling of pride followed it. "The Keeper would never abandon our people. There are clans who would... some of the ones you've met, probably. They don't think the city elves are worth saving, that they're 'just flat ears'. Istmaethoriel is better than that. She doesn't deserve to die. My clan are my family, Solas."

"Am I the first person you've told about this?"

She shook her head. "Cullen is sending soldiers to reinforce the elves." Lavellan rubbed her tired eyes and then tucked her hand under her chin. "It's a terrible idea, it will only make things worse to use violence against violence. But Josephine's best diplomats have already been dispatched as political aides to King Alistair. There was nothing else I could do. I couldn't just leave them."

"Haven't you spoken to Sera about it?"

He said it too casually, too simply. It was obvious he was trying to make a point. She gave him a level look. "You know I haven't. That's a low blow."

Solas frowned. "I apologise. I just wondered if she could finally bring herself to care if someone she loved was affected."

Lavellan closed her eyes. "She has her reasons." She sighed, flexing her hand. "What is the point of this mark, if it doesn't help me protect those I truly care about?"

"Repairing the Veil and defeating Corypheus _would_ protect them, and everyone else."

She scowled. That wasn't the point at all. With the mark, she had the power to control tears in the Fade. It had even granted the power to enter the Fade in physical form, though she had no idea how she had done so. Lavellan froze. She didn't _need _to enter the Fade physically. "I don't have to sit here grinding my teeth, thinking about what could be happening. You could _show_ it to me."

Solas narrowed his eyes.

"You know how to navigate the Fade, you could take me to Wycome." She pushed off the balustrade, approaching him with her most beseeching face. "I need to know what's happening there. It's killing me, not knowing. One minute, I think I might have gotten them all killed, the next I dare to hope that everything will work out. I just need to know. I need to see the Keeper."

She recalled Istmaethoriel's thin face, stern and commanding. It was her eyes that were her most striking feature though. Warm amber. Eyes that held such love in them, Lavellan had never felt as though she needed any other family.

"The Fade is not a mirror into our world, through which you can see current events," Solas replied. His voice was stern, like a disapproving teacher. She knew he wouldn't be impressed with this line of thinking, but it didn't matter right now. Lavellan needed to do something other than sit and fret. "The Fade is a distortion. It would be coloured by the feelings of the civilians and soldiers there. You would see elves being cut down because they fear it. You would see them claim the city and live as lords, because they dream of it. And even if you could see the truth there, you couldn't change it. Would you really want to risk seeing your Keeper struck down, and know you couldn't stop it from happening?"

"I already know, Solas. Whether I see it or not, there's nothing I can do to stop it happening. At least I could see her again. It's been so long since I saw any of them."

He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, the seconds stretching out unbearably as he made his choice. Eventually, he sighed. "Go to sleep, and I promise that you'll dream of your Keeper. I'll ask that Cassandra keeps everyone at bay for a little while."

...

The dream smelt of flowers. The scent evoked feelings in Lavellan, stirred memories of her childhood. Mythal's Favour, the flower was called.

She was very young, full of self-pity and tears. She had found a patch to sit on whilst she sulked, shaded by large tree in the forest grove. All about the knoll were flowers, little white bells on long stems that arced around her.

Footsteps approached, measured and gentle. Lavellan felt her chest clutch in anticipation, hope. A dark hand reached down and plucked a slender stem of flowers. Istmaethoriel stepped to the foot of the knoll, regarding the young child with an unreadable expression.

The dream flowed forwards as Istmaethoriel took a seat beside Lavellan, speaking to her softly. The words were indistinct, faded by time and the fallibility of memory. Despite that, they caught in Lavellan's heart and were treasured. Istmaethoriel wove the flowers into her child's hair.

The tears dried on her face, and she smiled.

...

Lavellan woke with a smile still tingeing her lips, the smell of the flowers filling her senses. She pushed herself onto her elbows, blinking against the light that was streaming through the open balcony doors.

"Finally! I've been stood here for nearly an hour! Or maybe fifteen minutes. I can't remember."

Lavellan pushed herself onto her elbows. The room was so bright, it took a moment to realise where she was. As she grasped her surroundings, she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then blinked again.

Sera was leaning against a lacquered cabinet, where a stem of white flowers leaned out of a vase. They still rocked slightly from her trying to arrange them.

More flowers rested across her desk, more still on the chaise-longue by the stairs. In fact, as Lavellan got to her feet, looking around, the room was _full_ of flowers.

"I might've overdid it a little, yeah?" Sera asked with an impish grin.

"How...?" Lavellan touched the petals, rubbing them between her fingers to check that they were real. Was this another dream? Some bizarre gift from Solas to soothe her sleeping mind? She bit the inside of her cheek to see if she would wake up.

"Well, it's like this, see," Sera said. "I noticed you were acting weird lately, because yeah, I'm not dumb." Lavellan tried to interject, but the other woman continued, wandering and gesticulating insistently with her hands. "You started with the mopey face not long after you went to see the three talking heads, so I figure it's something to with them. I look through all their serious little papers, talks with Ser Up-His-Own-Arse and quests to find the long lost teaspoon of Andraste or whatever. Then I find one on 'Clan Lavellan in Wycome'."

At this point, Sera scowled at her, looking like a petulant child, but at the same time making Lavellan feel like the child. She felt a twinge of guilt for not saying anything.

"And it's something to do with helping elves," Sera continued, and rolled her eyes, "because why wouldn't it be. It made me worry about you..." She scuffed the toe of her shoe against the floor, looking awkward and annoyed at the same time. Perhaps simply annoyed that she felt that way. "But I don't know how to help if you're worried about elf things. How to talk about that stuff."

"See? I didn't want..."

"While I was thinking about it, Creepy comes up to me. Well actually, he appeared out of nowhere and it's bloody creepy, innit. Said he'd been poking about in your head, and could help me make you feel better. 'Cause he'd been poking about in my head, noticing me worrying about you, worrying about your clan."

Lavellan waited quietly for her to continue, subconsciously sorting though Sera's strange dialect to find the tender meaning.

"He told me a way to make you feel better, since you didn't talk to me about it yourself. These flowers." Sera gestured around the decorated room, looking pleased with herself. "Got them this morning. Mythal's Chesthair or something your people call 'em, right."

"Mythal's Favour," Lavellan corrected, smiling as the nostalgia washed over her again.

"They'd make you feel better because they remind you of your family."

"They do," she breathed. "Thank you, Sera."

"Then... tell me about them. Your clan. The Keeper. Doesn't have to be elf history or some other bollocks," she added hastily. "Just people stories, like why you like the flowers so much."

Lavellan took a stem from a nearby table and settled herself onto the bed. She patted a space in front of her, and Sera darted over, dive-bombing the mattress with her usual gusto. Lavellan laughed and waited for her lover to get into a more comfortable position, propped up on her elbow.

"When I was just eight, I deliberately used magic for the first time. Up until that point, there had been some minor signs that I had the talent, but it hadn't truly manifested. I was the First in our clan, apprentice to the Keeper, so everyone was expecting it to happen at some point. They... probably weren't expecting me to set fire to one of our landships though."

"You committed arson?" Sera asked in a mock serious voice, sounding like Cassandra for a split second. Then she laughed. "You little shit."

"I was upset about something silly at the time. I just wanted to burn a hole through the sail out of spite, but poof – the whole thing went up in flames. While everyone was rushing around trying to put it out, I ran off into the forest. I felt sorry for myself, doing something so stupid and dangerous when I'd seen the Keeper work intricate magic so many times. I didn't think I would ever be as good as her, or worthy to follow her steps."

"You thought about all that at eight?" Sera asked, mouth gaping half amused. "I just thought about egging the neighbour's house."

"The place where I was sat sulking was surrounded by these flowers. Though I didn't see them at first, I smelt them. Rich and strong. The Keeper appeared not long afterwards and told me they'd put out the fire, with no real harm done. Then she told me the story of when she had first used magic." Lavellan smiled to remember the story. It was the first time when she realised the Keeper was a normal person just like the rest of the clan, able to make mistakes. "She'd been trying to use it to catch a fish. It was supposed to go into a net one of the hunters was holding open. Instead, it went soaring out of the river and straight into his open mouth. Apparently, he was stood there for about a minute, fish tail waggling out of his mouth as he tried to figure out what had happened."

Sera guffawed, clapping her hands, and Lavellan found herself laughing too. "I felt so much better after that. If the Keeper could do something so silly when she was a kid, then there was hope for me too. At that point, she promised to teach me all her secrets." Lavellan twirled the flower stem gently in her hands. "Istmaethoriel promised to look after me for as long as we were together. She placed one of these flowers into my hair." Lavellan slid the stem behind Sera's ear. The other woman smiled, looking unsure, curious. "And she said that she would protect me, always. That I was dearest to her heart."

Sera shivered, giggling to herself. "It's a good story." She paused. As Lavellan's gaze grew distant again, worry creeping into her memories, Sera poked her in the cheek. "You can tell me more stories about them. It makes them feel not so far away, right? They're only just in your head. Not far at all."

Lavellan smiled, grabbing another flower to play with, to keep the memories solid and real. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally ate halla dung?"

Sera grinned madly. "Go on, go on." She settled into the mattress, getting comfy. The flower was still perched behind her ear.


	5. Chapter 5

It had grown dark without Lavellan even realising. One moment she was settling into the soothing hot bath, next she was in a pool of tepid water, gazing at a darkening wall. So much had happened in the past several days, her mind wasn't truly able to process it. It felt like things were reaching a close with Corypheus. They had pushed him as far as they could. The Arbor Wilds had broken his army. His best general was now on Cullen's leash. There was nothing left to do but kill him, assuming it was that easy.

With all that considered, Lavellan should feel ecstatic. Instead, she was just pensive. They had learned so much in that ancient temple, and there was more that Solas wasn't saying, she was certain. Had he known the truth about the ancient elves all along? Had he known that the culture of the Dalish was just a sham? She must have looked so stupid. Unwillingly, her mind strayed to times when she had mentioned her people, the Creators, anything that could now plausibly be a lie.

"Are you going to walk around all year with that sobby little face on?" came Sera's brash voice, as the blonde elf stomped up the stairs. "I'll put earwigs in your pillow if you don't stop. What do you think of that? Creepy little pinchy butts coming out at night and crawling into your ears. They'll go straight for the ears, they're big enough."

Lavellan didn't react, she just swished the water in her tub. "That's a lie, my ears are a delight."

"To you, yeah. Ooh touch me there, noooo touch me _there_." Sera ran her hands over herself like some one woman sex show. It was vaguely reminiscent of a desire demon, but with more giggle-snorting and fewer nipple tassels.

"Why are you here, Sera? I'm trying to take a bath."

"Well, you're doing a shite job. Sat there staring at the wall like a right drooler. Maybe you just need a hand? I've got two right here, can give you a little rub down. What, like I've never seen you wet before. _Wet_, right?" She guffawed.

Sera made an exasperated noise at the continued lack of reaction. "Look, right. I just want to know how hard I need to kick Solas in the balls."

Lavellan blinked in confusion. "Solas? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Ever since we came back from that stupid demon-worshipping temple, with its stupid not-dead-ancient-elfy-elves-from-years-ago, you've been making that face." Sera's own face set in a petulant frown. "It looks like someone kicked a puppy. Since it's my puppy, I don't like it. And, since it's Solas you've been chatting up about it, I _really_ don't like it. He's a right bullshit merchant, that one."

Lavellan's lips quirked into a smile, stomach performing delighted backflips, despite her better sense. "I'm your 'puppy', am I?"

"Oh ha ha, caught me."

"You'd be surprised, actually. Solas simply confirmed everything Abelas said."

"That the weird guy from the temple?"

"Ah… yes?" How could she not remember the name? The whole expedition had been a world-shaking event, full of revelations, and Abelas was the icing on the cake.

Sera shrugged. "Wasn't looking at his name, just arrows. I have lots, but they had more. Since you and Solas were too busy chatting, that left me and Cass to do the watching. Your lot have a stick up your arse about honourable elfy elves looking out for each other, but they would've stabbed our backs in a heartbeat. All for some demon whose arse they kissed hundreds of years ago. Shite for brains, that lot."

Lavellan's eyebrows hiked upwards. She hadn't realised that Sera had even considered the philosophical implications of the temple. "You think it was all demons?"

"Yeah. What else could it be? It can't be real gods because _Andraste_." She sounded out the name slowly, as though it was obvious thing in the world that the Creators couldn't be gods if Andraste was the Maker's bride. Lavellan had never really thought about it like that. She didn't believe in the Maker herself, but that wasn't due to some process of elimination. She just thought the Maker sounded like a tit. At least the Dalish gods hadn't abandoned their people by choice, or so her people thought. It felt strange, to have your beliefs pulled away.

"The Maker and elf gods, those things... don't add up. So call me crazy, but I want to believe in the god _not_ made up by people who failed."

"It does make me wonder," Lavellan mused. "Who was Mythal, really? She could've been a demon, or spirit. Maybe just a powerful mage. Certainly not a god." She grimaced at the memory of Solas' words. "Not any I'd want to follow."

Now it was Sera's turn to make the confused face. "You're… agreeing with me? About all that elfy shite? Colour me surprised." She grinned. "Here's me thinking I've signed up for an hour of _'Sera don't abandon your culture, our people have suuuuffered!'_" She snorted. "Yeah right, and it was all elves that did it to themselves."

"Solas told me some of the things he learned in the Fade." Lavellan's throat felt tight just talking about it. She'd been sat in this tub so long, the water was cold, and the goosebumps were starting to rise on her skin. "You know, the ancient elves weren't so different from the Tevinter magisters? It's just the same abuses with different people, repeated through history. Everything I've ever been taught was just a story." She swirled the bath water lightly with her fingers, heating it with her magic. Some Keeper of the lost lore she would be. "We always knew that what we believed were just pieces, but we thought they were pieces of history and culture, not some fantasy so that we could justify feeling sorry for ourselves."

She set her jaw in annoyance.

Sera hopped onto the bath, one foot on either side. She crouched there, straddling it. Just a slight imbalance and she would be arse-first into the soapy water. Her face was curious, almost like she wanted to prod Lavellan's feelings, see what kind of reaction it would produce. On occasions like this, she almost seemed more like a barely tamed animal than a woman. Lavellan still didn't quite understand why it appealed to her so.

"I won't say 'told you so'."

"I think you already have." Irritated, Lavellan flicked the water at her face. Sera stuck out her tongue.

"It just makes me sad." Lavellan sighed, leaning back in the tub and eyeing Sera above her, perched like a bird of prey. Or perhaps a beggar protecting her last coin. "The Dalish are so proud and I was proud to be one of them. I was going to be the Keeper of our clan, preserving the memories and keeping us on the true path."

Sera eyed her curiously, and Lavellan sighed.

"Except I'm _not_ anymore. I live like a human, dress like one, live in their homes of stone. And I'm not even sorry." She gave a rueful smile. "I _love_ the people here! I love playing Wicked Grace with all of you, and picking up new things in Val Royeaux. I love having a soft bed and damn it, I really like shoes!"

"And getting shit-faced in the tavern with me?" Sera grinned.

"Especially that." She cupped Sera's jaw for a moment. "I've just realised that there are so many Dalish out there who will follow these lies from the day they're born until the day they die, and it's sad. It's a waste. They're just as much slaves to the Creators now as they were in the past."

Sera shrugged. "Just tell them what you know."

"They'd never believe me. Ismaethoriel might, possibly even the rest of the clan. They're living in Wycome now, helping the people there. They have a good purpose, so the loss of their culture might not feel so great. For the rest, it would be easier to believe that the Dalish 'Herald' has turned flat ear, rather than realise everything they revere is a lie."

She scoffed. "Bloody elfy elves. You know what? Screw them. Tell your ones in Wycome if you want, doesn't matter. Living with normal people might wise them up anyway. But don't be sad for the elves. They don't deserve your sobby face."

Sera gave her a thoughtful look, and placed one finger on each of Lavellan's cheeks, trying to tug her mouth up into a smile. "I was worried for ages, y'know. I thought that there'd be one day when all the elfy stuff came out, and you'd realise you didn't want me anymore."

Lavellan started to frown, but Sera's firm fingers kept that stupid smiling expression in place.

The Red Jenny looked away, her own face twisting as she tried to control her frustration. "It's always been the same with elves. Never enough. Don't complain enough, don't hate humans enough. Don't throw my shoes on the trash heap and prance around some tree like a right cock. They never understand that people are just people. They want to hold on to stupid lies they tell themselves, because they're too scared to let go and just bloody try living."

The grip of her fingers softened, and Lavellan took the opportunity to gather Sera's hands into her own. The city elf wasn't often affectionate. Not in any normal sense, anyway. Her idea of affection was pinning a smile onto her lover's face. Pinching her nose. Or other things. This time, Sera didn't move her hands, just awkwardly looked at them, nestled in Lavellan's.

"If never wanted you to be 'more elfy'. I love you for who you are, and nothing I could've learnt in the temple, or from Solas would ever change that. You don't have anything to worry about. There's nothing left for me with the Dalish. Honestly, I don't think I could've gone back to that life anyway, not after being part of the Inquisition. We can do so much more than the clan ever could."

"Careful you, don't want to start sounding like big people."

"They get arrows in the face," Lavellan said sagely, breaking into a grin. "Perhaps your sobby face also needs cheering up?"

She grabbed the front of Sera's dress and pulled, overbalancing the blonde elf. Sera toppled into the bath with a crash of water and shrieking. The splash-back hit Lavellan straight in the face, so she ended up coughing as much as laughing. Sera flailed around in the bath, trying to right herself.

"You shite bastard! My knickers are all wet now!"

Lavellan cackled mercilessly. "What was that you were saying earlier about being wet?"

Sera gave her a wolfish grin, yanking off her own sopping clothes and tossing them aside.

...


End file.
